Read or Drabble
by Rhianwen
Summary: A collection of ROD drabbles. Various characters and pairings, labeled within the chapter.
1. A Walk in Winter

Read or Drabble

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Disclaimer: All characters appearing in these tiny-ass stories are respectfully borrowed from Mr. Kurata, who is not approving their use here, because as far as I know, he has not hit his head and gone completely insane.

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Summary: A collection of ROD drabbles. Various characters and pairings, labeled within the chapter.

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Chapter 1: A Walk in Winter

Characters: Nenene, Maggie

Pairing: Nenene/Maggie

Timeline: Mid- or post-TV, in winter.

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When the snowball hits her, it takes Nenene a split second to go from contented to Pissed the Hell Off.

She turns, deep snow crunching in the deafening silence. Ignoring Maggie's murmured just forget it, she scowls at her teenage assailants.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?! YOU BRATS DON'T HAVE GIRLFRIENDS, SO YOU SPEND YOUR TIME HARASSING PEOPLE?! I DARE YOU TO TRY THAT AGAIN!"

As they scurry, terrified, Nenene congratulates herself on a job well done, and turns back to Maggie a split second too late to see the snow-laden paper army whoosh back inside her jacket.

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End Notes: It may bear mentioning that I'm going with the definition of "drabble" as exactly 100 words long. Because if anyone needs practice at concision, it would be Rhianwen. Some may be double-drabbles, triple-drabbles, etc.

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	2. Every Man's Duty

Chapter 2: Every Man's Duty

Characters: Junior, Tohru

Pairing: Anita/Hisami, extremely light Junior/Tohru

Timeline: Post-TV

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Junior always thought that women fell in love, and men were just sort of there.

After all, his mother is in love with Yomiko, and Nenene is in love with Yomiko, and sometimes he thinks that _Yomiko_ is in love with Yomiko.

He doesn't mind; he's happy to stay out of the way.

So today, when Anita and Hisami started brushing hands and blushing, he grabbed Tohru's wrist and dragged his friend away to give them some privacy.

But then Tohru blushed, and he blushed, and now he wonders if men do fall in love, and women just don't notice.

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	3. Job Description

Chapter 3: Job Description

Characters: Joker, Wendy

Pairing: One-sided Wendy/Yomiko, Yomiko/Nenene

Timeline: Between the first and second volumes of the manga.

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"Perfect; you don't look a day over fifteen."

Wendy glowers darkly as Mr. Joker straightens her starched white collar and leans back, arms crossed, to assess the fit of the mail-order school uniform – particularly, she notes grumpily, the little pleated skirt.

"I hate you, you know."

He laughs.

"You ought to thank me. Rumour has it that Agent Paper bears quite an affinity for pretty girls in knee socks."

"Y-you're horrible!" she sputters, bright red and outraged.

Completely unruffled by her indignation, he smiles.

"So, you deny it?"

She gapes helplessly for several distinctly guilty seconds. Finally,

"I hate you."

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	4. Peanut Butter Peril

Chapter 4: Peanut Butter Peril

Characters: Anita, Tohru

Pairings: Vague hinting at Tohru/Hisami

Timeline: Mid- or post-TV

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"You are such a moron."

The young man on the bench, doubled over in severe agony, pays little attention to his companion's disgusted assertion.

"This sucks," he groans weakly around the rumble of far too many baked goods, courtesy of one Miss Hisami Hishiishi and one Home Economics class spent making peanut butter cookies, rampaging through his digestive system.

"It's your own fault," Anita reminds him inexorably.

Tohru manages a glare.

"You said you'd rip my spleen out if I didn't finish every crumb!"

Anita rolls her eyes.

"I didn't mean you had to eat all nine dozen at once!"

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End Notes: Hee! Tohru's such a cutie.


	5. Through the Eyes Of

Through the Eyes Of

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Characters: Nenene

Pairing: Vague Nenene/Yomiko

Timeline: Post-OAV, pre-TV. Double-drabble.

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The elderly man behind the optometrist's counter of the eyewear outlet looks dubiously at the pair of thick-framed glasses in his hand, lenses undoubtedly too strong for the young woman's eyes.

"Miss Sumiregawa, I'm concerned. You don't really need glasses."

A nineteen-year old Nenene crosses her arms.

"Look, can you fix them or not? They're kind of important to me."

"I can, but—"

"Great. Can we get on with it?"

"How long have you been wearing these? If you're not careful, you'll destroy your eyesight."

"How much for the repair?"

He sighs.

"It's just a missing screw; I'm not going to charge you for that."

"Thanks. When can I pick them up?"

"I can do it while you wait."

"I'll be here."

Hesitating slightly, the optometrist picks up a tiny screwdriver. Seconds later, he hands the repaired glasses back to Nenene, who snatches them up and slides them back on with a sigh of relief.

She sends him a tiny smile, scratching her cheek lightly.

"Thanks."

He nods, but she's already turned to go.

He sighs again as a sharp thud drifts back to him, accompanied by an annoyed shout of pain.

"Who the hell put that wall there?!"

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End Notes: Yyyyyyyeah, I'm not sure either. XD

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	6. DoubleTeam

Double-Team

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Characters: Drake, Wendy, Maggie Anderson, puppy

Pairings: Drake/Wendy

Timeline: Post-TV, AU

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When Drake woke up from a Sunday afternoon nap with a wet tongue on his cheek, his first thought, pleasantly surprised, was that his little blonde girlfriend of nine months and counting had finally gotten over her shy, modest, English streak.

When he managed to pry his eyes open, intent upon moving the fun upstairs to the bedroom, he found himself staring up at what appeared to be a black dreadlocked mop with a long pink tongue.

"ARGH!" he noted calmly, bolting upright and sending his new pal skittering to the floor.

By the time Maggie and Wendy reached the doorway from the kitchen, he was already up from the couch, swearing and trying to scrub the dog slobber from his face with his sleeve.

"Hey, Dad," Maggie greeted nervously, as Wendy beckoned the animal over with a soothing stream of baby-talk. "Looks like you met Doodles."

"Doodles," he repeated flatly. "And where did 'Doodles' come from?"

"He followed us home from the mall," his daughter explained quickly. "He doesn't have any tags, and he looked so lonely, and he was so happy when we brought him inside and gave him snuggles, and you _said_ you'd think about getting a dog--"

He groaned.

"--so if no one comes to pick him up, can we keep him?"

"You mean, can _I_ keep him while you're at your mom's most of the time?" he grumbled. Maggie shrugged in grudging concession of his point. He turned an annoyed glare on Wendy. "You couldn't have stepped in?"

She grinned sheepishly.

"W-well, you _did_ say you wanted a dog. And look at him! He's such a sweetheart! Can you say no to this face?" she demanded, scooping the dog up in both arms and lifting him for closer inspection.

Drake looked for a long moment at the dog, eyes completely obscured by its long, corded fur, tongue still hanging out.

"Yes," he finally replied.

Wendy set the dog gently down on the floor, and put an arm around Maggie's shoulders, one hand at her chin to turn her head towards Drake.

"Well, then, how about this face?"

On cue, Maggie assumed a pleading, big-eyed, wobbly-lipped expression.

As his resolve began to crumble beneath the might of Maggie's award-winning sad-face, he groaned again. Finally, with a sigh of defeat, he crouched and gave the dog's head a quick tousle.

"Welcome to the family, Doodles."

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End Notes: Yeah, I don't know how Maggie A. and Wendy managed to find a Puli running around without an owner either, but anything's possible in a story! XD


	7. Anything For Baby

Anything for Baby

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Summary: In which Wendy shares some good news with her husband.

Characters: Drake, Wendy, OC

Pairings: Drake/Wendy married

Timeline: Post-TV, AU liek whoa.

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"Drake?"

In the act of shampooing, he stops. Between the noise of the shower, the fourteen-month old little girl babbling happily away on the floor, and the racket Wendy's making rummaging through the medicine cabinet, he's not sure if she called or if it's his ears playing tricks.

"Yeah?" he calls after a moment.

"Did you throw out the rest of my calcium supplements?"

He frowns, bewildered.

"Did I _what_?"

"The calcium supplements your mum made me start on when we were expecting Geneah. You know, giant things the size of someone's thumb, ruined our coffee grinder, tasted really awful in a smoothie …"

"Oh, yeah. Didn't you go off those the day she was born?

"Of course I did; I'm not about to gag those things down without a reason."

He laughs and turns off the water.

"So why are you looking for them now?"

She doesn't answer in words, but when he pulls the shower door open, he's greeted by a tremendous grin, part sheepish, part triumphant, and entirely thrilled.

Still dripping wet, he catches her in a bear hug and slightly soapy kiss, and if she notices her clothes becoming soaked, she gives no sign of it.

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End Notes: Because Drake/Wendy babyfluff is seriously addictive when you're me. Just be glad that most people are not. XD


	8. Girls' Night Out

Girls' Night Out

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Summary: Maggie, Nenene, and a night out at the bar. 500 words of pure fluff.

Characters: Maggie, Nenene

Pairings: Maggie/Nenene

Timeline: Post-TV.

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"That looks like a dancer's body to me. Wanna go somewhere so you can show me your moves?"

Growing abruptly crimson, Maggie looked away from this grinning apparition, all patchy facial hair and untucked shirt, and curled in on herself.

Nenene, however, had long prided herself on her refusal to be intimidated by alcohol-soaked idiots like this newcomer, and chose quite a different reaction. From the moment the jackass had come into view, eying Maggie's long, lean form with interest, her blood pressure had been climbing, and now, as her girlfriend's quiet, comfortable confidence and grace seemed to evaporate into miserable embarrassment, the gauge exploded in the full glory of an angry Nenene.

Seeming to double, triple, quadruple in size, hair nearly bristling, teeth bared in an angry snarl, she slammed both palms down on the table top, the motion propelling her to her feet.

"You know, it's a common misconception among drunken losers that alcohol makes you smarter. It just makes you _think _you're smarter, even though everyone around you knows that you're still an idiot. Let's take you, for example. I'm sure that when you don't reek like a bottle depot, you're a reasonably intelligent human being. You probably didn't get the idea to dust off the old charm until after your third or fourth beer. Unfortunately, it was probably around the third or fourth beer that you completely lost your grip on reality, and the undeniable fact that Hell could freeze over, get a spring thaw, and freeze over again before she'd be desperate enough to look in your direction, let alone go _anywhere_ with you!"

Meanwhile, Maggie hid a smile. Despite the suspicion whispering in the back of her mind that Nenene was well on the way to bursting something if she didn't calm down, and quickly, there was something appealing about the angry sparkle in her eyes. Not to mention, the gentle bounce of her chest with each sweeping gesture she made.

Alas, it seemed that Maggie was far from the only one who knew a good thing when she saw it; quite apart from being deterred by the little brunette's speech, the young man grinned all the more widely.

"Man, what a little spitfire! I bet you've got a move or two of your own! Please, enlighten me!"

As he leaned in closer to Nenene, everything seemed to happen at once. Nearly the instant his arm touched her shoulder, he gave a choked, startled squawk as the back of his shirt was caught in a death grip that pulled the front tight about his throat.

"What, you want to join us?" he might have asked, had he not been entirely occupied with the business of soaring majestically through the air, helped along by a darkly glowering Maggie.

Ignoring a chorus of startled shrieks as their would-be suitor slid across the floor and into a table full of young ladies, Nenene grinned, and then pulled Maggie in for a kiss.

"C'mere, you little spitfire."

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	9. Company's Coming for Cake

Company's Coming for Cake

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Summary: On a day like today, a man could be forgiven for skipping straight to dessert. About 700 words of pure fluff.

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Characters: Drake, Wendy

Pairings: Drake/Wendy

Timeline: Post-TV, the same AU that all my other Drake/Wendy married!fluff tends to take place in.

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It had been a long day.

A long, hard day, and while _long_ and _hard_ are not always bad things, this day had not been one of those exceptions.

First, he had woken up.

If that hadn't been bad enough, he had been compelled by the frantic beeping of his alarm clock to actually _get_ up. It had been no small feat, prying himself from his cute blonde wife's vice-like grip and the seductive power of Wendy's strange tendency to discard most of her pajamas during the night. But, he'd been roped into a Saturday of overtime, and even if he was regretting it now, he'd been raised to treat a promise as a promise.

This, unfortunately, eliminated the option of flopping back into bed with his little half-naked human furnace and drifting back to sleep with the vague, hopeful notion that he'd get more mornings like this if he got fired.

From there, it had been a cold shower – not by his own choice, but by the molecular property of water to turn icy cold automatically when coming out of a shower head aimed at him – and then some burned toast, and off to work.

Well, off to a two-hour traffic jam, anyway. On a _Saturday_, for crying out loud. Too late he had recalled that there was some sort of out-of-town festival today, and all normal routes would be at a standstill.

Not that he had any particular desire to be at work, but time missed at the beginning of the day would just be tacked on at the end, so that it was close to six by the time he'd finally pulled back into the driveway.

Therefore, when he stomped into the kitchen to find his wife wearing only a frilly apron and covered with the same sugar, flour, and icing that was scattered liberally about most of the kitchen, he thought warily that his day was finally beginning to improve.

He approached, silent as a cat, taking a moment to enjoy the effect of the pert little bow of apron strings bobbing away at the small of her back as she mixed and measured and poured. With a quick prayer of thanksgiving for Wendy's bizarre little habit of cooking in only an apron to eliminate the inevitable stains to her favourite articles of clothing, he stopped a scant inch behind her.

"Hey; what's this delectable little treat?" he murmured into her hair.

She gave a startled shriek, nearly breaking his nose with an involuntary hop, and whirled about.

"Oh! Hi, honey," she greeted, attempting to pull him down for a kiss without subjecting him to the sticky concoction coating her arms nearly to the elbows. Once he had obligingly leaned down and given her the good-morning kiss she had been cheated out of this morning, she beamed. "I'm making a pumpkin cheesecake for the girls at work on Monday."

He chuckled, one hand drifting down to her hip.

"Actually, I was talking about _this_ delectable little treat."

"Drake!" she admonished as he pulled her closer. "I'm _baking_."

"Yeah? And I'm hungry," he countered with a grin, eyes sweeping up and down her body.

She shook her head fondly.

"Well, just let me finish this, and then I'll make dinner."

He stared, flatly disbelieving, amid the faint whistle of his point flying completely over her head.

Then, as she tried, unsuccessfully, to crack an egg into her mixing bowl, he sighed.

"Ack!" she yelped as she found herself nudged gently out of the way.

"Where's the recipe?" he asked briskly.

Without a word, she handed him a page clipped neatly out of a magazine, and then watched in awe as he proceeded to finish the mixing process with a skill and deftness that never failed to surprise her.

Minutes later, the batter was poured swiftly into the pans, and then popped into the oven, and one little flour-covered blonde was shrieking in a combination of outrage and delight as she found herself thrown unceremoniously over her husband's shoulder and whisked upstairs.

After all, on this kind of a day, a man could be forgiven for skipping straight to dessert.

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	10. Identity Theft

Identity Theft

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Summary: In which the Mirror Man's proves himself to his new employers. About 650 words. I swear, I'll get back to the drabbles someday.

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Characters: Mirror Man, Wendy

Pairings: Joker/Wendy implied.

Timeline: Mid-TV.

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"I ought to shoot you for this."

The Mirror Man grins. It's his professional opinion that Miss Wendy, scowling darkly as she scrambles to cover herself, is at her best with a gun in her hand. The absence of one of those prim, demure little pencil skirts, he feels strongly, will only help the effect.

Might not be a bad way to go.

Not that it'll come to that. Over the years, he's gotten good at talking himself out of impossible situations, usually of his own making. This girl's annoyance upon waking up with a different man than she took to bed last night hardly qualifies.

And sure enough, she's already stopped clutching the blankets like they're her ticket out of Hell, stopped glaring like she's trying to cave in his skull. His grin widens.

"Shall I go fetch your purse?"

"Don't bother," she huffs, stiffening only slightly as his lips brush along the back of her shoulder.

He laughs against the back of her neck.

"Not going to be a good girl and get rid of the big, bad wolf in sheep's clothing?"

_Sheep's_ clothing, indeed. One wolf masquerading as another, more like. And she's spent enough time around wolves that she's about as much the innocent Little Red as he is, haphazardly smushed up children's stories notwithstanding.

"Don't tempt me," she grumbles, and he watches idly as she twists away and reaches for the telephone on the bedside table.

"What's that for?"

She smiles placidly.

"I thought I'd ask Mr. Carpenter how he'd like to handle this. Be warned, Mr. Callaghan, he doesn't look kindly upon identity theft."

_Identity theft._ As he recalls, Mr. Carpenter doesn't look kindly on other men touching what's his, either. But that's neither here nor there, just as long as his gamble holds up. No reason that it shouldn't. He's good at gambling. Lived his life on it.

He makes a lazy grab for the phone and tosses it to the floor.

"Only trying to help," he shrugs in response to her outraged glare. "D'you think he'll approve of how quickly you fell into bed with the first man who offered?"

"Do you think he's forgotten why he hired you?" she shoots back, leaning over the edge of the bed to retrieve the phone.

He leans back, hands tucked comfortably behind his head, eyes roving over that nice little figure. He's struck by the vague idea that legs like those should be outlawed, but with the mood she's in, he doesn't dare say so.

"Just saying, he might find it disturbing that you can't tell the genuine article from a slapdash, drunken imitation. Particularly when you interviewed the slapdash imitator three days ago."

A long silence follows, broken eventually by the thud of the telephone receiver bouncing across the bedroom floor, aided by a deeply annoyed little blonde clothed in bedsheets.

"You absolute, unbelievable prat," she fumes, climbing hurriedly out of bed and looking wildly about for some bloody _clothes_.

"Oh, don't run away angry," he entreats as she wriggles into the little black dress he left in a crumpled heap on the floor last night.

In response, she reaches for her purse, and he laughs.

"Changed your mi--" he begins, his question punctuated by a shout of pain as her little _girl_-gun - emptied, he notices upon quick examination - bounces squarely off his head.

"I've got another one in the linen closet" she informs him coolly, "and _you_ have three minutes to disappear."

The bedroom door slams, and he grins dopily for a moment at the closed door, before springing from the bed and hastily donning everything not trimmed in black lace.

Can't show up for breakfast in his date's favourite nightie, after all, and he doesn't plan to miss this.

She really does look fantastic with a gun in her hand.

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	11. Happy Morning

Title: Happy Morning

Pairing: Nancy/Yomiko/Nenene

Summary: Nenene's first three thoughts upon waking.

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Upon waking up next to a softly snoring bundle, Nenene's first thought is that Yomiko is stealing the covers.

Upon noticing the arm draped over her waist, the curvy shape pressed to her other side, the tickle of dark babyfine hair at her cheek, Nenene's second thought is that blankets are overrated, and _human_ blankets are the way to go.

Upon further consideration of the events of the previous night, Nenene's third thought, smiling blissfully as she yanks her and Nancy's share of the covers back from Yomiko, is that learning to share is the smartest move she ever made.

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End Notes: Whoo! Back to drabbles! Title purely for really silly fun. Ahh, Folgers...


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